Northern Christmas
by Merakia
Summary: Modern AU! John Thornton manages the business front of Thornton Textiles on Milton Street in Chicago. For Christmas, all he wants is to be with his family in New Zealand. Instead, he ends up in NY with his PA for Christmas.


_Northern Christmas_ featuring OOC characters, OC's, AU, and some fun (I hope)! If the previous sentence didn't make sense, I'm giving you heads up of what this story will look like. If I got any facts wrong, forgive me and remember this is AU. ;) Oh, one more thing. Sorry for a little late Christmas fluff.

* * *

Prologue:

For all his life, John Thornton lived New Zealand with his parents and younger sister, Fanny. As a youngster, his father actively trained his son in his business of textiles. However, his father was more of agricultural person than a businessman. Realizing the need for a businessman in the family, John Thornton chose his college major accordingly. With his father producing textiles in New Zealand, John moved to the US, Chicago to be precise, to introduce Thornton Textiles to the Northern Hemisphere. After many years of hard work, the company became one of the most reputable providers of many established fashion designers.

* * *

Christmas was one week away. Due to business, he couldn't return home for the holidays. As it was 7 o'clock in the morning, the weather was ruthlessly cold. He hated the cold, red noses, numb appendages, and the layers of clothing. He hated everything about Chicago winters. As he walked from his apartment to his office on Milton Street, he stopped by Starbucks for something to warm his insides.

A cheerful young barista greeted him, "Good morning, sir! What would you like to order?"

Scanning the menu, he answered gruffly, "A spiced cider and a warmed chocolate croissant. Name's John Thornton."

The barista punched in his order before setting off to fulfill his order. John glanced at the barista. She was young. Probably a college student. Her pony-tailed hair, which was colored like dark honey, contrasted rather nicely against her pale skin. John glanced at his phone, checking emails.

Someone coughed, "Mr. Thornton?"

He looked up. It was the barista with his order in hand. He curtly said, "Thank you. But you didn't have to bring it to me. What's your name?"

She showed him her name tag as she answered with a smile, "Meg. Would you need anything else?"

"No thank you," he said before hurrying out of the coffee shop to his probably cold office. Over the next few hours, John forgot about his meeting with Meg. He never bothered remembering people or events that did not have anything to do with his work. However, her cheerful smile, wavy hair, and sparkling eyes stuck with him. It was a rather warm thought on that blustery day.

Thornton only had a secretary in the afternoons. It was rather strange, but it worked. Everyone knew he never took calls, meetings, or anything remotely social in the morning. Part of that was because of his morning disposition. The other part was keeping up with paperwork.

At precisely, 1 o'clock, he heard his secretary say through the intercom, "Reporting for duty, sir."

"Miss Hale, list the order of events for today," he began.

She rattled off a list of people he needed to call, people he needed to receive calls from, meetings, and other items on the to-do list.

"Thank you, Miss Hale. You may commence with your duties," he finished. Six days a week, he began his afternoons like this. He hardly knew what his secretary looked like, but she was incredibly efficient. She was also never overstepped her boundaries, speaking only of business to him. Something he welcomed after his previous secretary.

Three hours later, he heard a soft knock on his door. He knew it was more paperwork from various sectors of the company. Mostly reports for him to review. He expected her to slip in, leave the papers at a table by the door, and leave as she always did. Without pausing from his work, he felt a draft in the room. It was most certainly not the windows. Swiveling around, he looked sharply at his secretary. And for the first time, he quickly noted what Miss Hale looked like. Young and quite dashing. Her hair, similarly colored to that barista from the morning, was drawn in a neat bun. Her dark brown ensemble suited her well. Her eyes were intelligent, but he couldn't quite make out the hue.

Miss Hale stammered, "May I have the next week off so I might celebrate Christmas and New Year's with my family?"

He soften slightly, "I suppose so. Is there anything else?"

"No, sir," she replied before turning and shutting the door.

He sighed. He so wished to be with his family right now. But as it is, he can barely keep up work, which meant he was stuck in Chicago for Christmas and New Year's. He closed his eyes and remembered past holidays at home. He would never wear five layers of clothing. Nope, all he would wear was swim trunks since his father had a house by the seaside. Swimming and surfing occupied the majority of the sunny days. If it was rainy, he would be inside, reading a book, playing chess with his father, or having a lively discussion with his sister. Then at nights when the weather was fair, the family would eat outside. Father would build a fire on the beach, and they'd have s'mores as Mother shared the history of various characters in the sky. Otherwise, she'd read a book while Fanny embroidered and he carved. Father generally drew designs to print on textiles. Then on Christmas Day, his mother would make a traditional New Zealand Christmas dinner. They'd have presents hidden throughout the house and all sorts of revelries. He missed doing that. He missed that ever since he moved to Chicago five years ago after graduating college.

The intercom crackled, interrupting his reverie. He growled, "What is it?"

"I really don't mean to bother you sir, but may I make a suggestion?"

"To what?"

"Your holiday plans. I do not see anything but work."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Yes. It shows a sign of depression or worse."

"I am not depressed," he nearly yelled. "Do I pay you to be my psychologist?"

"No sir, but perhaps you'd like to see how my family celebrates Christmas? For a change, that's all. You need only be there for Christmas Day. We tend to err away from the traditional meal since we have it at Thanksgiving…" At that, he began to tune out. She was nervous. Otherwise, she wouldn't be rambling.

Forcing a gentle tone, he interrupted, "Thank you, Miss Hale. If it'll appease your mind, I shall accept your offer. But I shall only come for Christmas dinner."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He nearly hung up when he heard her voice say, "By coming to my family's Christmas celebration, I must insist you participate as much as possible. You really don't see much of our traditions when you are there for merely two or three hours. Also, it is wiser to spend at least one night since it does include a plane ride."

"So, are you paying for my ticket?" He knew it was close to rude, but he was being more sarcastic.

"When you have a private jet? I think not. I shall add the event to your calendar, sir."

At eight, John heard Miss Hale gather her things and leave. He opened up his calendar and clicked the event. There was an address, a required arrival time, and a short list in the description.

He read the list, which began with, _Arrive at 11:00 a.m., promptly. Depart anytime after 9:00 p.m. Please try to be amiable._ There was nothing else. No phone number or email in case he should run into trouble. He looked for a link so that he may ask a few questions, such as what he should bring. Sighing, he decided coming up early was his best option.

On December 22, John Thornton flew into a small airport somewhere in New York. He then took a two hour taxi drive through the country and past a small town. Eventually, he arrived at a large Victorian farmhouse. Icicles hung from the eves. The snow blanketed the yard and nearly covered the trees and bushes. A warm light shone through the curtained windows. After paying the cabman, who handed him his small suitcase, he walked up the front door. He inhaled deeply and knocked on the door. No one came. So, he tried the doorbell.

* * *

Fred and his lovely wife were off on an errand in town, leaving Meg Hale with their two children, Maria and Richie.

As soon as Fred pulled out of the driveway, Maria asked, "Could we make cookies, Aunt Meg?"

"Gingerbread or sugar?" Meg responded with a smile.

Richie called out, "Gingerbread!"

"Alright, let me start the dough, then we'll roll it out and decorate together." She set to work while the children decided to act out the story of the Gingerbread Man. Eventually, the dough was ready for rolling, and she called the kids into the kitchen. She supervised the rolling and cookie-cutting. When one pan was filled, she put it in the oven. Then, she caught a sly glance in Maria's eyes. Suddenly, she found a dash of flour thrown at her.

"Maria!" she laughed, before tossing a little bit back. Fairly soon, flour began to fly until the doorbell rang. They stopped until Richie volunteered to get the door.

"No, I'll get it," Meg said. "We don't know who might be at the door."

As she stumbled towards the door, she tried to shake flour from her sweater and shake it out of her hair. Then she opened the door, only to see her boss, John Thornton, standing on the steps.

"I…um…would you like to come in?" she stuttered, slightly shivering as a cold wind breezed in. Her face turning a shade pink as she realized her appearance and the situation.

"Thank you, I would," he answered somewhat coldly.

Maria and Richie ran into the foyer, shouting who was their visitor. Seeing a stranger in a dark coat, they stopped besides Meg. They silently waited to see what would happen, for such events could be disastrous or amusing.

"Are these your kids?" he asked after an awkward silence.

"No, she's our aunt," Richie responded. "Are the cookies done? There was a ding."

"The cookies?" Meg questioned confusedly. Then she realized what Richie meant before dashing into the kitchen with a flushed face.

John looked around the cozy place. The kids immediately asked who he was. As he began to answer, they spotted a car driving up before shouting, "Daddy! Mommy!" They ran off towards the kitchen where, he assumed, there was a side door. So, John just stood there, not sure what to do with himself. Soon after, a still flushed Meg came again, uttering profuse apologies while leading him into the family living room.

Fred smiled, "So, Meg, I leave you with the kids for half an hour, and the whole house ends up a mess."

"Just the kitchen," his wife, Sophie, interjected softly. "Besides, if you were in her place, the same thing would happen to you."

"Fred, this is my boss, Mr. John Thornton," Meg began before Fred asked if she brought a secret boyfriend. "Mr. Thornton, this is my brother, Fred, and his wife, Sophie. You've already met the children, Maria and Richie."

Fred held out his hand, giving John Thornton a firm handshake. He asked, "What business are you in?"

"Textiles. My father is the producer and designer, but I head the business department," he answered simply. "I must ask pardon for coming unexpectedly. Your sister invited me for Christmas, but I thought it best to come a few days beforehand to help with preparations."

"Of course, any invitee of our little Nutmeg is welcome," Fred laughed.

"Nutmeg?"

"A nickname of Meg of Margaret."

Meg interjected, glaring at Fred, "What he means is that Meg is short for Margaret, but since I can have spontaneous ideas, which can be nutty at times, that name is changed to Nutmeg. Anyways, I need to show Mr. Thornton to a room."

Meg offered to take his bag, but John refused. He followed her up the kitchen stairs. He passed through the hallway while Meg pointed out certain rooms to satisfy any possible curiosity. She came to the end of the hall.

"You should have relative peace on this end of the house," she said. "The bathroom is just across the hall. In thirty minutes, I'll show you the best way to get downstairs without running into some minor disaster."

Throughout that half-hour, Thornton showered and prepared for the unexpected. Meg knocked at his door right on time. He noticed that she had changed into something a tad bit more formal than a sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He asked on their way down, "Miss Hale, what shall I call you while I'm here? I suppose it may be awkward for me to address you formerly."

She paused and glanced backwards at him before saying, "Margaret will suffice."

"So, I must work towards calling you by your nickname?" he teased. "But please, call me John."

She turned and looked at him incredulously. She could hardly believe the stern John Thornton making a joke, let alone tease. Then she smiled thoughtfully, "I suppose so, unless you stop at a certain Starbucks."

By that time, the pair reached downstairs. They found the family gathered round the dining table playing the game of SORRY. Meg, correction, Margaret showed Thornton into the den. It was rather cozy with a slightly worn out leather sofa with matching chairs. A fluffy rug lay in front of a raised fireplace. The fireplace itself was large. There was no TV on the mantel. Only a picture with vases filled with holly branches standing next to it. The large windows overlooked a sloping backyard covered in snow. A cluster of pines stood in the centre.

"Would you care for some hot cocoa?" Margaret asked after lighting the fire.

He answered solemnly, "I never heard of it."

"What!" she exclaimed. "Well, I shall soon mend that. Have you experienced sledding, snowball fights, snowmen, snow angels, or any winter activity?"

"You winter activities are completely different from mine," he answered mildly. "But if you show me a Northern winter, I might show you a Southern one."

"Well, to the first, I can do," she chuckled. "To the second, I doubt. Care to move to the kitchen so you can see how we make a very popular winter drink?" She rose and headed towards the kitchen without bothering to see if her companion followed.

Thornton watched in silence as the cocoa was prepared. When it was ready, Margaret asked, "Would you like peppermint, whipped cream, a chocolate drizzle, or chocolate shavings?"

"I'll take all," he replied indifferently. Two minutes later, a gourmet cup of cocoa appeared before him. He took a cautious sip before exclaiming his praise for the delicious drink.

* * *

Four days later, John Thornton sat in the back of Fred and Sophie's car with Margaret, marveling over the wonders of a white winter. He had agreed to take Margaret back to Chicago since Margaret accidently got a one-way ticket.

Once they were on the plane, Margaret asked, "So, what do you think of our Northern winters?"

"Well, the cold doesn't bother me as much," he began, "and I do rather enjoy coming from a snowball fight to one of your fine cups of cocoa. Overall, I must thank you for inviting me."

She observed, "Well, I must also thank you for the ride and saving me from having to spend New Year's with my maternal aunt."

"Is she…harsh?"

"No. Quite the opposite. She's extremely social, a bit pushy, and a bit too proper for me. Her daughter married an officer, whose lawyer brother was my ex."

"Oh," was all John Thornton could muster. He did not dare press for details.

"Mr. Thornton," she began again after a long pause, "when do you want me to work?"

"I believe I told you to call me John," Thornton said. "How would you like to start tomorrow morning? I could really use some help with the paperwork."

"I thought you weren't a morning person," she hesitated, not daring to look at his face.

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

Thornton continued, "And perhaps you wouldn't mind celebrating the New Year with me."

"Is that a date?"

"Possibly. Of course, it depends on how you look at it. It could be a promotion celebration."

Margaret looked out the window for several minutes before answering, "Well, if I get promoted from part-time P.A. to full time, I'll let you have my email address."

By March, John finally won the right to call Margaret by her nickname and get her phone number since he promoted her to girlfriend status. And by Christmas, he introduced his family to his fiancé, Margaret "Meg" Hale.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Now, if you really want _Southern Christmas_ , which would be John introducing Meg to a warm, New Zealand Christmas, or any expansion of this one-shot, you'll just have to tell me. On another note, if there is any grammatical, plot, or factual error/observation, do let me know.


End file.
